


It's A Metaphor.

by TaurusQueen413



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018)
Genre: Fluff, Freddie Mercury Is a Good Friend, Hippies, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, Pining, Reunions, Sad Roger Taylor (Queen), Song: I'm In Love With My Car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:47:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29312817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaurusQueen413/pseuds/TaurusQueen413
Summary: 1973,A young woman sat outside the local pub, nursing her twisted ankle late at night. Then she bumps into Roger Taylor, the drummer for the band, Queen. They only talk for a few minutes, but it was enough.
Relationships: Roger Taylor (Queen)/Reader
Kudos: 7





	It's A Metaphor.

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I know it was dedicated to a car-loving roadie they had, but let's pretend it's about the reader ❤️🥺
> 
> For fluff purposes, of course.  
> Also the reader is a hippie.

Taking a seat outside the pub, you grimaced and pulled your boots back onto your feet. Your ankle had rolled as you were leaving the pub after trying to walk home buzzed. People walked past you, not nothing to give you a second glance. Excrpt a man who gave you a once over, licked his lips, and was promptly smacked by his woman. Rude bastards, you thought sourly, clutching at the handle above you. You heard yourself up, your crinkled green skirt swaying around your legs. Your ankle throbbed in protest, making you whine. Your loose patchwork tank top and your favorite tanned knit cargidan with the clunky wooden buttons did nothing against the cold. 

You limped off the steps hoping you could make it down the street. Rain drizzled gently, almost a soft sprinkle, but it made the roads much more deadly. Cold seeped into everyone it would seem, cutting deep to your very bones. You just wanted to go home and sleep. The same ankle rolled again and you fell back, fingers missing the railing. Your fall was broken by strong arms and a whole ass body. The man behind you stumbled back a bit, but held you steady. "Hey, woah! You alright?" His accent sounded very pleasing to you, he must've been British, right? You pulled away and opted for kicking off your boots. They landed a few feet away; one in the bushes and one in the walkway. 

"Yeah, 'm fine. Just a bit buzzed. I rolled my ankle twice in 30 minutes so that should say something." You huffed, making him crack a grin. "Then you're sloshed? You look it." You shrugged, pulling your skirt up to check your ankle. It didn't look swollen and you could still walk on it. "Is it broken?" He asked apprehensively, hands hovering over your shoulders. Heat rolled of him in waves, a stark contrast to the nights chill. "Nah, it's fine. I can walk. Thanks for catching me, Mister..." Your sentence trailed off as you waited for him to say his name. His blue eyes widened for a split second before he smiled. "Roger Taylor, nice to meet you." He took your hand and shook it gently, not wishing to jar you anymore. 

"You too, I'm (Y/N) (L/N)." He opened his mouth in a silent 'ah' as you gathered your damned boots. "Do you uh, wanna go back inside and out some ice on it?" His words were helpful, but you didn't really want to head back inside. "I think I'll just go home."

"How far is home?" You thought hard through your buzzy state, remembering you lived with a group of people in a flat a few blocks away. Maybe like 8. Ugh. "8 blocks away, and the apartments on the 3rd floor." Roger made a face and tenderly rested his hand on your shoulder. "Id much rather you sit down then, it's too risky to have you head home alone like this." Sitting down wouldn't be too bad, you thought, vertigo taking affect. You plopped yourself down on the curb and Roger sat with you. A gust of wind threatened to knock you onto the ground only to be foiled by Rogers hand on your back. "Oh yeah, you're definitely sloshed. How much have you drank?"

"Why do you care?" It came out bitterly, but you didn't mean it. "Sorry, that sounded nasty. But seriously, why do you care?" Roger shugged and let his hand fall back to his lap. He picked lint off his thighs, a look of indifference on his face. "You're fucking sloshed mate, I don't want you going home like that." You chuckled. "Good samaritan, huh?" He smiled and turned to you, "Something like that." He was partially surprised you didn't notice him, what with him being a member of a steadily rising band. Unless you did and just didn't want to say anything.

"Do you...know who I am?" His words were slow and cautious, not wanting to break the comfortable acquaintanceship he so recently achieved. Beside him, you nodded, making his skin jump. He was slowly starting to become recognized, just like the rest, and that made him very excited. "Yeah, you're the uh... The drumber for Queen." He didn't mind it when you pronounced it 'drumber', he rather found it funny. "I like the band, my roommates play it all the time. The one that was uhh,, in July." Words were hard right now.

"My Fairy King is my favorite," you continued making Roger leaned in to hear your mumbles. "It's really mice." A blonde eyebrow shot up, and a laugh tumbled from his lips. "You mean, nice right? It's really nice. You know, I sung the soprano parts, y'know, the really high notes." He seemed to puff up when you made a soft giggle and nodded quickly, biting back a headache. "Were your nuts in your throat?" Your words made his face red but he acquiesced and picked up a wet leaf. "It felt like it. But I'm proud of the way it turned out."

"I can tell. You're really good at singing." It was a genuine compliment, one you've been wanting to tell one of them for a while now. The whole band is talented as all bands should be, but they're different somehow. They're gonna be huge one day. Huger than maybe The Beatles. "Have you tried writing a song?" Roger hummed, his shaggy blonde locks tussling in the wind. They framed his face perfectly, "I'm trying, but I don't seem to have a muse." His face was downcast, hidden by his hair. "I'm sure you'll get one. I believe in you." His heart jumped at your praise. "How's your ankle?" You rolled it and smiled. "Its fine now, just an ache."

"Wanna head inside for a drink, then? Maybe I could take you home?" You laughed, making the man beside you flush. "Sure, as long as you're paying. I'm fucking broke, mate." He chuckled and assisted you in, holding your arm as you limped to a chair. "Pick your poison." He said simply glancing around the crowded pub. Soft music played in the background as people talked around them. "Ah, just beer is fine." Roger left and came back a second later with a cold beer and something mixed with vodka. He took the seat across from you, sipping his vodka drink. You smiled and nursed the beer. Your mother use to say it tasted like piss but you just thought it smelled like piss, rather than tasted like piss. The two of you hit it off like water on wet, rambling about anything and everything. You never felt more seen by Roger, more heard by Roger.

Roger himself took notice of how you vomited your excitements over your impending job interview at the library down town. Your eyes would light up, and for a moment in your haze you spoke clearly. You listened intently when he spoke and made comments that made him bust his lung laughing. He liked when you laughed, the sound was like music to him. When she rambled on about his plans for the future you would ask him questions and provide him support and unconditional praise. Early did you criticize him, but when you did it was well mannered and he took it well.

The time flew by and neither of you noticed that it had been 20 minutes. It felt like hours, but unfortunately you had to head home. He didn't catch your apartment phone number before you slugged off your chair and gave him a hug, silencing him. You vowed to pay him back and put a few coins on the table. You grimaced, "Sorry Rog," God the way you said his name, he bit his lip, "I'll pay you back better next time we hang." Next time. Next time! That implies that you wanted to spend more time with him. He waved his hand away in an attempt to save face, because his was burning red. "It's all good, want me to walk you home?"

You shook your head, stuffing your feet back into your boots. "You done enough, Rog, thanks! I think I'll just uh stumble home." Worry gnawed at Roger's stomach, but if you said you could do it, the you'd do it. With a wave and a sweet smile, you departed, leaving the blonde drummer man alone.

He found his muse, though.

__________________________________________

1975

Roger was arguing with John and Brian in the hut outside Ridge Farm. He wanted I'm In Love With My Car to be on the album, determined to put the culmination of his pining and late night "self love" onto record. Brian and John thought it was weird to have a song about how much you loved your car, putting your hands on it, but no matter how hard he insisted it was a metaphor they shot him down. He was beyond pissed, and swipped their plates off the counter. The two men didn't stop him nor give any nasty looks. Roger when on to have his tantrum, frustrated as all hell.

They didn't understand, he told himself as he grabbed the coffee pot. Both men shouted, "NOT THE COFFEE POT!" As black coffee sloshed over onto the counter. He huffs and slammed it back down, storming out. If the rest don't like it, fine. But it WILL be on the back of the album. He'll make it so. Storming past Paul, he found a closet and locked himself in, sitting in darkness for hours. When it came time to record, Freddie was the first to bang on the closet door.

"Roger, come out! We need you in the recording booth!" Roger banged back, pissing Freddie off. "No! Not until you put I'm In Love With My Car on the record!"

"I'm not doing that Roger."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because it's WEIRD. You're in love with your car? Roger, please."

Roger groaned, banging his head on the wall. "Its a bleeding metaphor; did none of you go to school?"

Freddie sighed, tapping his fingers on the wood. "If I say I'll put it on the back of the demo, will you get out?"

Roger thought for a moment, and decided that if it was on the back of the demo it had a better chance rather than him putting it out there on his own. He missed her so much it was like a massive hole in his chest. He knew it was silly to pine over someone who probably forgot him. Everyday he ached for her smile. For her sense of humor. He wanted to take her out to dinner and buy her something nice. He wanted so desperately to hear a song he wrote about her.

"Fine."

___________________________________________

1975

The roar of the crowd deafened you as you stood in the front row, waiting for Queen to make it's appearance. You bought a vip ticket after saving up money to spoil yourself. You had moved out of your old flatmates apartment in 74, only to beat yourself for not getting Roger's home phone. This was your way of attempting to reconnect with him after failing the first time. The band's equipment was placed on stage by their roadies, which only made the crowd holler louder. You whined and took a night of the food you snuck in; a couple of crackers and your $5 water. It wasn't long until the band itself came on stage, with Freddie ruling up them. "Who's ready to get fucked tonight, huh? You all better get fucking wasted for me! First up on the venue is my beloved mates own song I'm In Love With My Car. He says it's a metaphor for a certain someone-" A loud collective 'Ooooh' come from the crowd. "Freddie, please!" Came Roger's annoyed voice, begging Freddie to stop. "Oh alright, alright. Seems like our Roger is a bit embarrassed. Well, we'll just have to cheer him on, won't we?"

The crowd went ballistic, and Rodger chuckled that chuckle of his. Longing mixed with the pang in your heart. Truth be told, you missed him. You missed him so much it felt like you were being swallowed up by a great sea. Did Roger move on? Wait, of course he did. There was never anything to move on from. And it's your fault. He must've met so many other women in his life, you were a speck of nothing to him.

It only made sense, since you were just librarian and he was a hot shot rockstar. Groupies must've had him hundreds of times. It wasn't like you fantasized being his woman on the road or anything. Totally, not. Not ever.

You sat back and listened to him sing, bobbing your head to the best. His voice was gravelly and low, making your feat heat up. Throughout the rest of the show, your eyes were focused on Roger, how he was so focused on the drums. He was sweating and wild eyed, like this was what he was born to do.

You envied the woman who caught his eye and kept it.

After the show, the handful of people who got vip tickets headed backstage to meet the band and get autographs. You made you way back, riddled with anxiety. Would he recognized you? Would he be happy you were there? Would he just sign your picture and go on?

Soon enough, it was your one on one time with the band, and you slipped into the room. It was a simple room with cream walls and a shag carpet. The room was temporary, built for meet and greets like this. You waited until the gaurd waited outside, to look up and smile.

Freddie was making a drink and Brian was laughing at something John said. Rodger was chuckling on the couch, rubbing his collarbone inside his shirt. When you caught Brian's lavascious eye, his lips curled into a wide smile. "Hello! Thanks for coming to the show."

"Oh no problem, I'll always take a chance to support a good band." Broad hands wraps around yours, shaking it thankfully. John and Freddie also expressed their gratitude, striking up small talk. Roger sat on the couch, dumbfounded. His jaw would've hit his lap if it weren't connected to his skull.

"Holy shit," he gasped, "(Y/N)?" The three men turned to Roger, who was slowly rising up. Freddie looked form you to Roger, confused. "Rog, do you know this lady?"

Roger nodded and swatted Brian's hand off your shoulder, earning a pout from the tall man. "1973, London. Outside the Eagle Pub, you sprained your ankle twice." He was breathless.

"You took me inside and we had drinks, for 20 minutes we talked. I-I never paid you back." You bit your lip, on the verge of tears. He swim his strong arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. You cried out and hugged him back, squeezing his soft body. "Fuck the payment, I'm glad you're here (Y/N)." He whispered in your ear, "I'm so, so glad you're here."

"I missed you; I had to come see you, I just had to." Your voice trembled, making Roger shake. "I'm so sorry I didn't talk to you after, I just had no clue where to start." Freddie pulled Brian and John outside so you two could talk in private.

Roger stroked your back, running his hand over the material of your tube top. He never touched your skin, just the material. "I didn't give you a clue, I'm so sorry. I wanted to go back and find you when I got sober but you obviously weren't there." Roger pulled away and pressed your foreheads together. The two of you shared air before he pulled you to the couch. "Oh my god, how-how are you?" He ran a shaking hand through his locks. He didn't cut them. "I'm fine, I'm still at the library. Not much is going on, but how are you? You guys are getting up there! I saw the charts, that's amazing!"

He beamed at your praise and got two waters. He handed you one and you took it. "So, you wrote I'm In Love With My Car?" He stiffened for a moment, only to nod. "I did. Did you like it?" You forced a smile, taking a sip of the ice cold water. It coated your esophagus and you winced. "I did, very much. Knew you had it in you!" He laughed and stroked your forearm with his thumb.

A comfortable silence feel between the both of you, until Roger felt that he had to say something. "It was about you, you know." Spluttering you look at him. His face was red and splotchy, but he wasn't sweating like in the show. He was... Blushing? "What?"

"I'm In Love With My Car was about you." He bit his lip squeezing your arm gently. "I um, I have to admit you've made an impression on me, ever since the night at the pub. I couldn't stop thinking about you and it evolved to, uh..."

"Lovesick pining?" The two of you barked out a peel of laughter as he nodded. He took your hands in his, facing you. "I wanted to tell you, but I didn't have a way so I just wrote it out in a way that would get out there and hopefully to you."

"It definitely got to me. I loved it, Rog. And, I love you, too." He leaned forward, pressing an experimental kiss to your lips. You kissed back, allowing him to slip his arms around your waist. He slipped you onto his lap, but there didn't seem to be anything sexual to it. Of course the kiss was amazing and it made you light headed, but his arms kept you grounded. Freddie poked his head back in, "Are you two done in here?"

"Do we have to go now?" Roger complained, giving your waist a good squeeze. You giggled and wrapped your arms around Roger's neck, pressing your face into his hair. "No, but if you two wanted to spend time together and catch up, I think it'd be good if we all -her included- head back to the hotel and get something to eat. If that's alright with you, darling?" Freddie's dark eyes shifting to you, where you agreed. He clapped his hands and turned to Roger. "Rog, I told you it'd be a good idea to leak that tidbit." He left with a knowing smile. Roger huffed and buried his face in your neck.

"I love you too, (Y/N)."


End file.
